Memoirs of the One and Only
by 18Forever
Summary: A.U. A story of learning the true meaning of growing up because in the end its not the years you lived that count but rather the life you lived that truly matters.


And in the end, it's not the years in your life that count. It's the life in your years.

_Abraham Lincoln_

_**Prologue**_

If you'd had asked me fifteen years ago what I was looking forward to in my future, I would have naively responded growing up.

That's bullshit now.

Growing up sucks… badly.

I wish someone had given me a heads up.

Those bastards….

I don't mean that.

I mean other people didn't go through what I've been through!

I know, I'm being dramatic.

God I think I've spent too much time with that pig.

On a side note, what kind of pig has soft long blonde hair, pearly blue eyes and a curvy long tone fit thin figure?

Common, what does that leave for the rest of us?

Cotton candy hair, huge forest eyes, and a tiny non-curvaceous figure surely noted by the fact that it hasn't changed at all since puberty (there wasn't much change in the first place, maybe a few inches taller).

Oh yikes, I though all these self esteem issues was taken care of by my psychologist.

Well shit, I want my money back!

I'm rambling now.

I am thinking of ripping these pages off, I don't want this to be the first thing I read when I wake up.

_If I wake up._

Shit, I'm doing it again.

Never mind, I'm not going to rip the first page off.

It's going to look ugly if I do.

Even at a time like this I am being superficial.

No.

I am a perfectionist like that.

Why am I writing like this? Who am I talking to?

Nobody but me will ever see this journal.

No I refuse to call this notebook a diary!

I tried using that once and failed epically, having lost it in elementary school where it was found the next day wide open at the entrance of my classroom where everyone had found out about my secrets and teased me profoundly.

Those assholes.

But I can't complain too much, you think a ten year old would know not to take something so secretive out of the house.

I wasn't quite smart back then.

I think I was dropped a couple times when I was a baby.

I think that's the only logical explanation for my behavior but I can't really make sure since my mom with smooth blonde hair, golden brown eyes, and beautiful figure that enhances her already prodigious assets, can't confirm since she didn't adopt me till I was four.

Fuck, I lost my train of thought.

Why am I cursing a lot?

I usually curse when I'm mad or nervous.

I for sure know whom I can blame for that—my big brother with his obnoxious blonde hair and ocean blue eyes and his stupid face with the brightest shiniest smile in the world that I love love love.

I don't know how he managed to marry that pretty creamy eye dark hair girl that used to faint just talking to him.

Everyone thought he was out of her league.

But I knew they were perfect for each other regardless of what her family said.

Seriously I need to stay on track, I'm never going to get this done.

You would think that at age 25 your attention spam would settle down.

But listen to me, it doesn't!

This might be the only thing that I would want to be different after I wake up.

_If I wake up__._

Shut up.

You're making it hard for me.

Seriously whom the hell am I talking to?

I'm sighing right now.

I wanted to start off these memoirs with something poetic and insightful but fuck did I fail epically.

The only poetic thing about me is my name and my hair.

I actually don't think its poetic, its kind of stating the obvious.

But I guess after twenty-five years of living with it, I've gotten used to it and secretly love my unique, one of a kind hair.

Matches my personality, some people say; its kind of endearing to hear.

Okay, nobody has ever said that but I know they are thinking it.

Seriously how did I even pass med school with flying colors?

Oh the good old days of cramming, studying, and crying every night with the enormous amount of work and expectation required from people who are pushing you to become the best fucking surgeon in the world and not the legitimate license serial killers that everyone in med school fears to become.

I mean who would want that kind of reputation.

Kind of brings down your resume.

Talk about pressure, no wonder a lot of people smoked out their tension.

As dully stated before, growing up sucks!

Or it sucked.

No.

I'm actually completing shitting myself right now.

At some points, growing up sucked, at it sucked a lot.

But if I could do it again, I would.

Call me a masochist.

There were some points in my life that were painful and wished never happened, but it's the same thing as saying that I would repeat 100X all the beautiful and wonderful things that did happen.

Life isn't perfect. You can't get away with just drawing bright colors.

Those beautiful moments are the best memories I cherish the most.

That's why I'm starting this journal, because when all this is over and _if__, _I mean when I wake up, I want the new me to remember the old me and never forget these memories that I love and pained the most, because it has made me who I am today.

The girl with cotton candy hair and bright strong emerald eyes.

The girl with a medical degree and noted as the brightest surgeon that has yet to come.

The girl with a strong will that has died and come back to life.

The girl with a diversity of great, loveable, caring friends.

The girl with the strongest, most medically, and politically skilled mother in the world.

The girl with the most perverted, most sweet, and caring stepfather ever.

The girl with the powerful and most wonderful ramen loving brother in the entire universe.

The **women** who has loved and has been loved by the most handsome determined strong man who has captivated her since day one with his onyx tantalizing eyes and godlike face and has given her the strength to continue living.

This is who I am.

This is who we are.

These are my memories, the memoirs of the one and only Haruno Sakura.


End file.
